In my peri-collegiate years, I had a habit of mixing tapes to cope with the aftermath of thwarted relationships.You could gauge the depth of my heartbreak by the amount of Sade I put into the mix or the depth of my anger by the amount of early Melissa Etherige.Another favorite for the angry tapes was the Eurythmics' "You Hurt Me. This survival technique worked well when I was 20 and dating for sport: no real objectives, a "long-term" relationship could be counted in semesters.But as I've, gulp, aged and arrived at the point where I am dating because I want to find someone with whom I can build a home and family, the pathos of a relationship's end has a different tone. More so, it beckons the inevitable, weary march back into the dating pool, wondering if the man I am supposed to marry got frustrated too and settled for Plan B.(And especially if you feel that you've already gone out with every other available person in your gender/age target group and have already been told that you're "too picky" for ruling out hermaphrodites.) After a recent breakup, two or three weeks slipped by without my noticing. It does nothing except compound your misery and, often, turns a minor setback into a devastation zone that affects other areas of your life, as well as future relationships. But set limits on it to ensure you don't pine away.I was upset and confused about my feelings, and embarrassed at not being able to bounce back into the swing of things. Post-ratiocination, you're called upon to walk the fine line between feeling your feelings and giving in to the inertia that makes your bed, the TV, excessive eating and other quasi-depressive activities seem far more seductive than is productive. Ask your friends if you've been moping for too long and set a deadline.Give yourself until, say, next Thursday to welter in misery.After that, pledge to begin moving beyond your funk. Alternatively, try setting aside a period of time each day: you're allowed to wallow between, say, 7 and each night. Perhaps the best way to combat the urge to wallow is to give your intellect a say.
Or, maybe he took that job offer in Sao Paulo, Brazil, ensuring that we won't meet again unless I decide to take my pale skin south for Carnival.
Around that time is when I announce that I am going to get a cat and become one of those spinsters who wills her life savings to her feline companions.